Saturday, 18 March 2017

THE LENT LILY

THE LENT LILY

BY

BARRY VAN-ASTEN

Lady Amelia
Cotgrave-Stuart had been making preparations all morning for her garden party.
Since the loss of her husband Major Sir Andrew Cotgrave-Stuart thirteen years
ago she had thrown herself into social engagements and was very fond of
entertaining guests who were on the social ascendancy. The Cotgrave-Stuarts had
been a much devoted couple and the Major’s death was a great blow dealt to her
Ladyship for they had had the perfect arrangement for a marriage – he served in
his Regiment abroad and she was the perfect and most dutiful wife in England,
seeing each other twice a year. The unlikely product of this perfect union was
a son, namely Aloysius Nightingale Cotgrave-Stuart in his eleventh year. It was
a gloriously sunny morning and the birds were singing in the trees as spring
had arrived uncommonly early in Chiswick.

Lady Amelia’s first
guests to arrive were the celebrated poet Oscar Wilde and his good friend Lord
Alfred Douglas, whom Wilde referred to as ‘Bosie’. Lady Amelia greeted Mr.
Wilde and his companion cordially and invited them into the drawing-room with
its huge French windows overlooking the garden and she turned to Oscar,

‘Mr. Wilde, I hope it won’t
be to your displeasure but I have invited the curate, Reverend Thomas Steadman,
are you familiar with him?’

‘Indeed I have had the
misfortune madam,’ Wilde replied, ‘for I was once asked reluctantly to attend
one of his abominable sermons. It was a splendid tirade if I remember and I
recall that Reverend Steadman is the only “man of the cloth” with the ability
to make the glorious Passion of Christ sound like the cloying death of “Little
Nell”! It brought tears to my eyes, not tears of emotion and sadness but tears
of laughter! And more recently I was asked to attend the Church Fete and give a
talk on “Art and Aesthetics” and once more I was brought to tears, tears of joy
in fact, for the good Reverend had left undone that which a gentleman never
leaves undone, in the trouser region madam! I had to escort myself from the Church
Hall for I was quite purple in the face in floods of uproarious laughter!’

‘How disgraceful!’
said Bosie.

‘Yes, well, and what
do you do Lord Alfred?’ enquired Lady Amelia.

‘As little as possible
as often as possible! In fact, I am rather strict about my daily regimen – I
spend enormous hours exercising my ability to be completely idle and doing
absolutely nothing!’ said the handsome Bosie.

‘Lord Alfred’s
attitude is very common amongst the young I’m afraid Lady Cotgrave-Stuart, he
pleads abject poverty to anyone who will listen to him and his father the
Marques of Queensbury boasts of his exorbitant wealth to anyone who will listen
to him, though they never speak or listen to each other!’ explained Wilde.

‘That is a great shame
Lord Alfred! Mr Wilde’, said Lady Amelia turning to Oscar, ‘they tell me you
are the wealthiest man in all of London!’

‘That is incorrect
madam’ answered the clean-shaven bard, ‘for that auspicious displeasure falls
upon the awful obnoxious head of that poisonous impostor Mr. George Bernard
Shaw who delights in advertising his remarkable and vulgar wealth as if he were
of papal occupation; he tirelessly parades his theatrical inability all across
London! I make it a point, in fact a religious oath, to never see any of his
tedious plays and to cut him dead whenever I am unfortunate to be in his
presence. It is the least one can do for the sake of art!’

‘Money is the root of
all evil’ retorted Bosie’ ‘and when Oscar comes into his inheritance he intends
to be thoroughly wicked with it!’

Her Ladyship escorted
the two gentlemen into the garden and pointed out the spring beds and borders.
‘What a charming and delightful garden you have your Ladyship! Such beautiful
flowers! I often wish that I were green-fingered you know!’

‘Are you fond of
horticulture Mr. Wilde?’

‘Only at a safe
distance madam and in small doses, for nature can be truly horrific; I find
nature invariably falls short of one’s idea of perfection – only man achieves
absolute perfection!’

The young boy Aloysius
had been busy chasing Lady Amelia’s cat Clytemnestra when he suddenly stopped
and walked up to Mr. Wilde and said ‘they tell me you are a poet sir!’

‘I never repeat any
knowledge which purports to be common’ interrupted Oscar, ‘and I never listen
to public opinion! It is invariably wrong in its judgements and vastly
exaggerated! No, I am in fact what is known as a “living and breathing poem”
which is what all great poets strive to achieve but fail utterly to accomplish!
Are you fond of poetry my young Narcissus?’

The boy looked
quizzical and answered with perfect nonchalance – ‘No, I find it is a lot of
nonsense about something and nothing all wrapped-up in fancy words!’

‘What a delightful and
perceptive young thing you are! Bosie, I fear the boy’s young eyes have been
exposed too soon to that old satanic show-off Swinburne for to form such an
opinion of poetry he must be truly damaged beyond belief and the precious bloom
of his ignorance has disappeared irretrievably! Tell me, who is this charming
yet somewhat melancholy Aristotle?’ said Wilde, turning to Lady Amelia.

‘That Mr. Wilde is my
son Aloysius’.

‘Does he bite?’
expressed Bosie.

‘More to the point’
continued Wilde ‘is he housetrained madam? Remind me Bosie to inform dear Mr.
Dowson that his eager public anxiously awaits his next volume of “nonsense
about something and nothing!”’ Lady Amelia frowned as Wilde continued,

‘He is wise beyond his
years and a great credit to you Lady Amelia!’

‘Thank you Mr. Wilde,
he really is the most well-behaved young man in all of London I believe and I foresee great things
ahead for him!’ said a proud Lady Amelia.

‘How unfortunate Lady
Amelia! That will all change when he comes of age, do not be despondent madam!’
Wilde said, bowing his head towards the little gentleman.

‘He has great
prospects,’ gushed Lady Amelia to Oscar, ‘he is at Eton
and is destined for Oxford
I am told!’

‘Many a flowering mind
has been crushed and ruined by an Oxbridge education and Eton
simply lets anybody through its doors these days! Imagine my consternation to
learn that my butcher has one of his offspring who is a young Etonian!’

The group walked a
little further down the garden and came to a chair with a man seated upon a
cushion, ‘what have we here Lady Amelia, a rare bloom indeed?’

‘My father gentlemen,
may I present Lord Rothwell!’ Lord Rothwell was oblivious to the intrusion and
unable to greet the company. ‘You must forgive his Lordship’ said Lady Amelia,
‘he is meditating!’

‘Does he often snore
when he meditates?’ enquired Mr. Wilde.

‘Continuously, for I
find the deeper the trance, the louder the snore!’ returned Lady Amelia.

‘I often find the same
thing happening in Church, for the pews are filled with people busy meditating;
they must attain a very high level of spiritual enlightenment for the snoring
is positively cacophonous!’

Lady Amelia took Bosie
aside and asked him if it is true that Mr. Wilde is truly a genius. ‘But of
course’, Bosie answered, ‘he would take great delight in stating the fact, as
he does, often, but between you and me, the man is all surface and no
substance, for it is I who am the real inspiration behind his genius and
without me he would surely starve! Society craves men of genius and Oscar
craves society’. Just then Oscar pushed his quivering smooth chin between Lady
Amelia and Bosie and having nonchalantly lit his cigarette, which was a true
artistic endeavour in itself, paused and said ‘did I hear mention of “society”?
It is to my eternal shame that society is so simple to enter, yet so very
difficult to exit – much like marriage!’ Lady Amelia found this amusing and said
so which in turn amused Bosie for he was so easily amused.

‘Have you never thought
Mr. Wilde’ asked Lady Amelia ‘of growing a moustache, you would look so
distinguished!’

‘I’m afraid I haven’t
the energy or the patience for such matters madam – elegance must be
instantaneous or not at all; I am not prepared to wait for nature to produce
what art can do immediately!’

‘There is nothing
“instant” or “immediate” about your appearance Oscar, for it is the result of a
life-long obsession with your own vanity!’ Bosie declared.

‘Nonsense’ spouted
Wilde, ‘in fact, I make it a strict rule to spend a minimum of three hours in
the morning, not a minute less, on my attire, a rule which I repeat in the
afternoon and again in the evening before dinner! To return to the moustache
madam, I find it is the last refuge of a man with something to hide!’

‘But the curate has a
moustache!’ Lady Amelia said.

‘I rest my case!’
Wilde said gleefully.

‘And so did my late
husband, God rest him!’ her Ladyship said, through pursed lips.

There was an uneasy
silence which was broken by the tea things which were brought out into the
garden by the maid and a plate of delicious looking scones with cream and jam
were laid on the table. As well as the tea accoutrements there was a decanter
of Sherry which the two gentlemen accepted instead of the tea! The maid then
informed her Ladyship that the curate had arrived and was ‘securing his bicycle
to the railings for Chiswick is a notorious hotspot for bicycle thieves’ as the
curate had said and ‘one can’t be too careful can one?’

‘Do help your selves’
gentlemen!’ said Lady Amelia as she and Aloysius went off to greet the curate.
Oscar and Bosie confided together before her Ladyship and the curate joined
them – ‘Did you ever meet the Major?’ enquired Bosie of Oscar. ‘Unfortunately
not, I am told he was an excellent conversationalist when not in the company of
his dear wife, which was more often than not!’

‘The boy is quite
exquisite is he not, a fallen angel in the making don’t you think?’ Bosie suggested,
adding ‘strange that he is only eleven years old and the Major passed thirteen
years ago! Surely there is some discrepancy there?’

‘Yes, a fair Ganymede indeed! There have been
rumours in that location as to his origins, some say he is the result of an
illicit liaison; it is an age-old predicament whereby the aristocracy fall for
the romantic entanglements of the lower classes. Vulgarity is a trait exclusive
to the upper classes and poverty is a condition peculiar to the lower classes –
both are exceedingly ugly! As to the boy, the matter is never mentioned!’ Oscar
poured himself another Sherry.

Lady Amelia and the
curate followed by the angelic Aloysius joined Wilde and Bosie and following
introductions they all sat down to tea.

‘Mr. Wilde’ said the
curate, ‘I have been reading your poems and I must say they really are quite
beautiful!’

‘Ah curate’ intoned
Wilde, ‘if I want flattery I go to my tailor for he seems to be under the false
impression and outrageous misconception that flattery will result in my paying
my tailor’s bill! Of course it is quite the opposite for the more he flatters
me the more I spend and the longer the unpaid bill becomes! No, for the sake of
dignity curate, you simply must read Baudelaire!’

‘Are you a religious
man Mr. Wilde?’ enquired the curate.

‘With no disrespect to
your good self sir, the foundation of the church was built upon hypocrisy! I
consider myself a lapsed pagan for I have lost my faith in nature! But I
suppose one could call me an apostle of aestheticism!’

‘Oscar’s a true
heathen curate, whereas I have a great admiration for the finer points of
Catholicism!’ Bosie declared.

‘May I tempt you to
one of my cucumber sandwiches Mr. Wilde?’ said Lady Amelia pushing a plateful
under Oscar’s nose.

‘Usually I yield to
temptation madam, it is much simpler than resisting it but on this occasion I
shall refrain!’ Wilde stated.

‘Dear Oscar suffers
chronic indigestion with cucumbers, in fact; he has an abhorrence of anything
green when served upon a plate before him!’ Bosie informed her Ladyship.

‘Quite true Bosie, in
fact I react outrageously when presented with anything limp and green and
edible because it so reminds me of all the hideous defects in nature! Salad and
attempting to read Wordsworth bring me out in ghastly boils so I swore before
the Almighty Ruskin never to digest either! The only green I am able to appreciate
are jade stone, my green carnation and Absinthe which my physician prescribes
and strictly insists I take before, after and instead of meals!’ Lady Amelia
was uncertain as to what direction the conversation was turning and offered the
curate her sandwiches one of which he took just to show that he did not
prescribe to Wilde’s outlandish notion of nature! ‘I don’t think you are being
quite sincere Mr. Wilde’ said the curate ‘and I think perhaps you are making
fun of me and my profession!’

‘Not at all curate’
Wilde said brushing the curate’s arm with his hand, ‘I am being quite serious.
If one is virtuous one doesn’t seem to get a look-in with the Church but the
minute one starts sinning it’s like a red rag to a bull and one can’t move for
dog collars and cassocks making claims upon the soul! Once one breaks beyond
the bastion of the ecclesiastical dog collar, you will find a guilty man taking
refuge! The Anglicans are very good at pointing out the wrongdoings of their
congregation and the Roman Catholics have cornered the market in suffering! The
sad fact is the crucifixion has been done to death!’

‘You are a most
conceited man Mr. Wilde and no doubt that is part of your charm!’ exclaimed the
curate.

‘A man whose charm is
always on the offensive is to his own detriment most offensive!’ Wilde said
joyfully!

‘She has a point
Oscar!’ said the tipsy Lord Alfred who had been filling his glass several times
from the Sherry decanter.

‘At last, chivalry
rears its unwanted and vastly overrated head!’ Wilde said with a nod and a wink
towards Bosie and then turned to Lady Amelia - ‘Nonsense your Ladyship for I
have it on good authority that only last season you entertained that old rascal
Dickens and a more conceited man never walked the earth!’ Mr. Wilde sat back in
his chair quite content with the verbal jousting.

‘I must say’ Wilde
said slowly, ‘there is no greater time in all the year which equals Eastertide,
everything seems so new and delicate! Do you not agree curate?’

‘I concur fully Mr.
Wilde yet it is indeed a busy time for the church!’ the curate snorted helping
himself to a jam scone.

‘Lent has such a
curious fascination for me. Do you know the story of the Lent Lily?’

‘No!’ said Lady Amelia,
‘do tell it!’

‘It was a time of
great bloodshed when the Roman army occupied Britain. The story of Christ was
told by some early Christians and those that were caught were swiftly put to
death. There were no churches as we have today for these followers of Christ’s
word to congregate in and worship so they gathered in small glades and copses
and celebrated with tales of Christ. They came to look upon the Lily as a
symbol of Christ and his suffering for it appears at the time of Lent. The
Romans were not happy with these unorthodox meetings and many were broken up
and the followers dealt with, given the most inhumane punishments which
satisfied the senate that order was being kept in Roman Britain and religious
thoughts were not aloud to flourish and flower among the primitive race of the
Britons! The Romans learnt that these early Christians had venerated the Lily
and heaped symbolism upon it concerning the death of Christ and they were
ordered to cut down all the Lilies in the land which they did. The following
year the Lilies grew once more and once again the early Christians worshipped
the flower for its ability to appear, like the physical resurrection of Christ!
And once again the flowers were destroyed by the Romans, cut down and uprooted
and burnt throughout the land! Eventually, when the Romans were driven out of Britain the
early Christians noticed that the flower appeared during Lent and on Easter Day
seemed to sacrifice itself, and as if by some miracle it would re-appear the
next year, mirroring Christ’s suffering and resurrection! And so the Lily
became known as the Lent Lily!’

‘I’m not sure that’s
quite true Mr. Wilde, at least I have never heard that story before!’ the
curate said with a playful smile upon his face, as if his leg were being not just
pulled but twisted into the bargain too!

‘Tell me’ continued Lady Amelia, ‘aren’t you
afraid of being found out?’

‘Madam I am always
being “found out” by bill collectors – my only fear is that one day I shall be
“found in” and expected to honour one’s debts!’

Just then the maid
returned to inform her Ladyship that Mrs. Harribel-Jones had arrived. Mrs.
Harribel-Jones was an inveterate gossip and had been rather looking forward to
meeting the famous Mr. Wilde.

‘I hate to inform you
Mr. Wilde’ said her Ladyship rising to greet Mrs. Harribel-Jones and taking him
aside ‘and I would not mention it in front of the others, but you have a spot
of jam decorating your necktie!’

‘I am aware of it
madam for I put it there myself with my own fair hands. Don’t you think its
colour exceptional, like the blood of Christ glistening in the sunlight! Think
nothing of it madam, it is a mere affectation; it shall be “all the thing” next
season!’

Mrs. Harribel-Jones, a
large ‘un-corseted’ lady with the complexion of thistles joined the party and
was delighted to be introduced to the great Mr. Wilde.

‘You must forgive me
Mr. Wilde for being a little late as I had an appointment with my oculist!’
explained Mrs. Harribel-Jones.

‘Forgive me madam’
Wilde said courteously, ‘as it is such an easy mistake to make, for the one
opens one’s eyes to the glories of irreligious immorality and the other turns a
blind eye to pious respectability!’ Mrs. Harribel-Jones delighted in Wilde’s
company and they talked a little on Shakespeare, declaring that if he had taken
more consideration over his plays he may have become more well-known and that
Huysman was ‘positively all the rage in Bohemia!’

The subject turned
towards literary criticism and Mrs. Harribel-Jones asked Mr. Wilde if he would
kindly look over her unpublished memoirs and review them with a design on
publication.

‘Thank you madam’ said
Mr. Wilde, ‘but I do not receive manuscripts. I am positively besieged by
requests for my thoughts upon this book or my artistic impression of that play
– it takes a certain order of being, malevolent by nature and of a tired, drab
appearance, tarnished by the mud of ruined reputations to really do it
injustice! These monsters are known in the theatrical trade and no doubt
throughout all artistic avenues as “hypo-crits”!

‘Another more familiar
name is “parasite”!’ suggested Bosie, ‘and let us not forget “philistine”!’ he
added.

‘I really must
disagree’ erupted the curate, ‘for where would we be without the careful eye
watching over the intricacies of artistic expression to make sure it is
suitable for society!’

‘God willing we would
undoubtedly have “The Yellow Book” sir, and when I speak of God I am of course
referring to Mr. Walter Pater!’ intoned Wilde.

‘Society should learn
to mind its own business and to blazes with it!’ defended Bosie. The curate
looked decidedly unsettled as Wilde whispered to Bosie ‘ah, the coup de grace!’

‘You must excuse my
young friend here curate’, said Wilde steadying Lord Alfred, ‘he doesn’t
normally react this way with Sherry, I think he has been mixing his metaphors
again!

‘I think it is most
inappropriate especially with Easter on the horizon and the good Lord on the
cusp of once more shedding the darkness and flooding the world with light
again!’ the curate said with his delicate, soft hands joined in prayer before
him.

‘I quite agree it’s absolutely
outrageous!’ Wilde said with a contemptuous look often found in pulpits. ‘I
often read the lives of the Saints’ he continued, ‘and delight in their chaste
and pious existence – they are such defining examples to us!’ Suddenly the
curate warmed to Mr. Wilde for here was a subject that he knew well and was
gracious to extend upon. ‘The Liturgy’ the curate began, ‘is filled with
righteousness and suggests ways in which to live a fulfilling and worthy life
sharing God’s word and…’

‘Yes quite’, interrupted
Wilde, ‘but where is the story of Saint Judas? Why do we not hear about this
neglected Saint? After all, he was one of the apostles and he was also doing
God’s work as foretold by Christ when he turned Christ over to the Romans! That
kiss of betrayal, man has been repeating it ever since! The fact that he died
by his own hand should surely strengthen the case for Sainthood for he must
have felt the guilt of the world upon him to take such steps and here we are
almost two thousand years later calling him a “bad man” – forever condemned as
a distrustful monster; he is a byword for everything disloyal and greedy, yet
in my opinion he was the only apostle that truly loved Christ because he did
not shirk from abandoning Christ even when Christ knew what he was about and
forgave him for it! A chaque saint sa chandelle!’ The curate sat wide-eyed and
without explanation. It was Lady Amelia who came to the rescue: ‘Attend to me
Mr. Wilde’ said Lady Amelia, and after Mr. Wilde excused himself they walked
together through the garden, leaving Bosie and the curate staring bemused at
each other, and Mrs. Harribel-Jones feeding the ever unsatisfied stomach of
Mrs. Harribel-Jones!

‘I am a little out of
sorts Mr. Wilde for I received bad news this morning concerning an Aunt of mine
who passed in the night and I was considering cancelling the garden party!’

‘How inconsiderate of
the good Lady that she could not postpone the inevitable, Death is such an
ill-mannered and unexpected guest! You have my sincere condolences madam!’

‘Thank you Mr. Wilde.
It falls upon me of course to make the necessary arrangements as she never
married and lived a quiet and simple life in Hastings!’

‘I find death and Hastings so inseparable
for one does not exist without the other!’ said Wilde. ‘In fact, one never
knows whether one is in Hastings
or actually beyond the veil of life where there is absolutely nothing more than
“quiet and simple” much like Hastings!
She was fortunate not to marry, for I find all women attempt to make an immoral
man virtuous which of course is their strength! But likewise, all men allow the
fairer sex to make virtuous men of them and that sadly is their weakness!’

‘Talking of marriage
Mr. Wilde, I have been contemplating that monumental position myself but I have
many obstacles to overcome in deciding.’ Lady Amelia said discreetly.

‘Is there someone
special madam?’ enquired Wilde.

‘No, not particularly;
but I am unsure as to the period of widowhood and the question: have I made a
good show of grieving my late husband the Major as to not upset society?’

Wilde looked a little
quizzical and said ‘Madam I was not aware that there was a strict period of
widowhood and I should think thirteen years quite sufficient to the memory of
your dearly departed husband! Sometimes the oldest tree bears the softest fruit
and we must not forget that we are living in an age of dignified splendour
beneath a veneer of respectability that constrains the ordinary impulses; the
world is changing madam and although Her Majesty Queen Victoria, whom I might
add has set a precedence upon mourning, still darkens the throne and bathes
England in a sea of black crepe and crinoline, there is an air of indifference
and we are on a new threshold – Society must change with it or get left behind
by it!’

‘I am glad to have
your mind on the subject Mr. Wilde; I am not disappointed by your thoughts!’

Mr. Wilde and Lady
Amelia walked back towards the company and Wilde could see that Bosie had
slumped into a chair and was joining Lord Rothwell in his meditation, snoring
very loudly indeed!

‘I am sorry your
Ladyship but I think it is time my young friend and I departed for he has made
a thorough exhibition of himself, much to the curate’s dismay and if it were
not for the genteel ladies (and the charming Aloysius) we would have outstayed
our welcome in the first few minutes of introduction! Come Bosie, once again
your radiance has outshone me and there is nothing I hate more than being
second best!’ Following the exit of the great man and the brilliant Bosie the
garden party broke up, the curate went off to prepare yet another ‘abominable’
sermon, Aloysius ran off and chased her Ladyship’s cat Clytemnestra; Mrs.
Harribel-Jones just managed a couple more scones before leaving and Lady Amelia
Cotgrave-Stuart was left to contemplate the prospect of marriage!